


Tutor, Teach Me (A Lesson)

by Make_It_Worse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Hank, Coming Untouched, Emotional Sex, Feelings Realization, First Time Bottoming, Hank prefers the bottom though let's be real, M/M, Power Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Praise Kink, Switch Hank Anderson, To be clear it’s Hank’s first time bottoming, Top Connor, Tutoring, Wet Dream, When he bottoms anyway, disaster bisexual Hank Anderson, emotional kissing, switch Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: By his fourth beer, he can’t focus his eyes on his book anymore. He can’t focus his attention, either.You fucking twinks now, Anderson?That tall dude you’ve been seeing.Fuck all those guys. They were off their rockers. Connor hadn’t said or done a single thing to indicate he was interested. He put up with Hank’s stupidity well enough, but that doesn’t mean anything.You’re smart, Hank.Hank groans and falls back onto his pillow. He pulls it out from under his head before draping it over his face to block out the light.Whyhad it felt so good to hear him say it? True, not many people ever stopped to consider Hank’s intelligence, but he knows he wouldn’t blush if anyone else had said it.--Age swapped HankCon! Hank is failing statistics. Connor, a part-time professor, is tutoring him. Now seems like a great time for Hank to have his bisexual awakening. Too bad he has zero chill.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 24
Kudos: 268





	Tutor, Teach Me (A Lesson)

It's good to be king of the campus, Hank decides as a pledge brings him another beer. He had his pick of women, his classes weren’t so bad, and this beer on-demand thing was definitely an amazing perk. He remembered his own rush year with considerably less fondness. It was one of the reasons he had wanted to rise through the ranks.

The Beta Omega Xi fraternity had lost some of its luster since Hank’s dad had been a member. He remembered how fond his dad was of his college years and the stories of comradery, beer, girls, beer, leadership, and beer. When Hank dropped his bags in the fabled halls, it was a decidedly darker place. Pledges being used as workhorses, parties with questionable ethics, and drugs ran rampant. Hank had paid his dues and worked hard to earn his fellow pledges’ trust as well as their support.

He’d started low on the totem pole, but, as a rising senior, he’d secured his place as the fraternity’s president. Sure, he put the pledges through the paces, but it was nothing like the cruelty he saw during his own rush. They liked him even if they were a little intimidated by his sheer size. He may be big, loud, and rowdy, but he took his duties seriously. Everyone in the fraternity knew Hank was someone they could trust and rely on when in trouble.

Still, he knew not everybody saw the Beta Omega Xi’s through his eyes. Plenty of people on campus disliked the brothers simply on the basis that they hated frats. Plenty of his teachers assumed he was a meathead jock, coasting on his lacrosse scholarship. Only Professor Manfred seemed to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Hank had taken his class on a whim. It fit into his schedule and art history hadn’t struck him as too difficult a topic. He’d already met the requirements for his criminology degree, but he was a few credits short to fill out his electives. There was also one class lingering in the background that he’d been avoiding his entire college career.

Statistics 201.

Fuck. Statistics.

Hank wasn’t bad with numbers, but they bored him to hell. He also had a hard time with formulas and, really, what is the point when a calculator can do the brunt of the work?

By the third week of the semester, Hank knows he’s in trouble. There’s still time to drop the course, but that only leaves him with his final semester to figure out how to make the equations stop jumping all over the page and sit still. The equations are worse than he thought, and he’s going to fail if he doesn’t make some serious cognitive breakthroughs.

“Something troubling you, my boy?” Professor Manfred’s frail hand taps him on the shoulder and Hank looks up from his textbook. He’d retreated to the library to try and force the words in his statistics book to stick to his brain, but, so far, no luck.

“Numbers are the pits, sir.” His professor laughs and turns the book in his direction.

“Ah, statistics. Yes, quite terrible. I’d much rather throw paint at a canvas.” Hank cracks a hint of a smile. He’d always liked Professor Manfred’s down to earth attitude.

“I dunno what I’m gonna do, sir. Between practice, games, and the fraternity, I can’t find time to make sense of this. Studying isn’t doing shi—isn’t doing me any good. I don’t even know what I’m looking at.” He sighs and sinks down into his chair. He’s not pouting. He’s scowling. There’s a difference.

His Professor gives him a serene smile, “Have you talked to your academic advisor? They might know a tutor who can help you. The university is pretty good about helping its students succeed.”

Hank’s mouth goes into a thin, grim line. He _hadn’t_ thought of that, but the idea isn’t an appealing one, “Cool. Another geek who’ll sneer down their nose at the big, dumb jock.”

His professor tuts at him, “Are you being any better by assuming a statistics tutor is a _geek_ or will judge you on sight?”

Hank shrugs, “I’ve seen enough ducks to recognize how they walk and quack.” His professor fixes him with an unamused stare and Hank capitulates, “Fine, fine. It’s not like I have a lot of options anyway.” He thanks his professor for stopping by and shoots an email to his advisor. It can’t hurt to ask, right?

He’s less than enthused when his new tutor turns out to be a quiet, middle-aged adjunct professor that works part-time at the university. Big time nerd for sure. He can feel the vibe of educated superiority wafting off the guy. He’s tall (but not quite as tall as Hank he notes with a smirk) and thin; Hank thinks he could snap him in half if he wanted to.

He isn’t sure what sets his teeth on edge about the man. He introduces himself neutrally enough ( _Hi, my name is Connor. I’m the tutor your advisor requested._ ), but a vague disquiet unsettles Hank’s nerves. Something about this man is knocking him off his game.

He gives his head a shake. It doesn’t matter. He only needs one thing from this Connor and that’s to pass statistics.

An hour later, and Hank’s head is throbbing. None of this is making any sense and he can tell Connor is stepping things back farther and farther to try to assess Hank’s comprehension level. Hank about launches out of his seat when Connor rests his hand on Hank’s wrist.

“I understand this is frustrating for you,” Hank looks up and meet’s Connor’s gaze. His eyes are a soft brown and lined faintly with crow’s feet. Concern etches into his features and Hank flushes at the look. “I promise these exercises will help limber up your mind. It will make more sense once we really dive into it.”

Hank drops his eyes at Connor’s use of _limber_. The room is too warm and he yanks his sweatshirt over his head. Connor watches him, waiting for Hank to pick up the pen and get back to work. Another agonizing hour of numbers and symbols passes before Connor calls it for the night. They work out a schedule to fit in two to three study sessions per week around Hank’s practices, games, and fraternity events.

Hank leans over the railing of the landing that overlooks the foyer. Connor turns to give him a little wave before shutting the door behind him. It’s less than two seconds before one of the pledges calls out, “You fucking twinks now, Anderson?”

Hank closes his eyes and counts to three before turning to address the latest thorn in his side. Gavin Reed wasn’t his favorite pledge, but he was trying his best to give him a chance. Before he can answer, his second in command barks back, “You offering to get in line, Reed?” Gavin flushes a heinous purple before muttering under his breath and retreating through the doorway to the common room.

“Thanks, Jeff,” Hank mutters and Jeff claps him on the back.

“Statistics still kicking your ass?” Jeff nods at the door Connor just closed, “He works at the DPD, you know? He just teaches part-time as part of some outreach effort. He’s their main computer whiz.”

Hank turns, his mouth dropped open and agog, “He _what_? He never mentioned—that _weasel_.” Hank had spent the better part of fifteen minutes explaining why he needed a tutor. That he had big dreams of a career in law enforcement. He’d practically gushed about wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps and join the DPD. His dad was retired now, but still. Connor could’ve said where he worked and prevented Hank from rambling on like an ass.

Jeff punches him in the arm, “Cool your jets, Anderson. Don’t go tearing into the guy. Burning bridges and all that?” Hank lets go of his irritation. Jeff was right. Connor could put in a good word for him in the future after all.

Assuming Hank didn’t fail statistics. Son of a bitch, he hates math.

Reed makes a point of lingering anytime Connor comes to the house to workout Hank’s brain and wring out every bit of sanity left in him. If Hank wasn’t so frazzled, he’d wonder if Reed wasn’t nursing a small crush of his own. He certainly slings enough accusations Hank’s way.

It wasn’t that he didn’t see the appeal. Connor is good looking, he supposes. Even if he’s older, he was one of those lucky ones that probably looked _better_ with the silver at his temples. He moves with far more grace than Hank could ever manage. He sometimes wondered if his muscles interfered with his ability to move like that. Not that he had any need for floaty elegance, but still.

Dudes just weren’t his thing. There were more than enough women on campus giving him looks to keep him occupied. He’d never found one he wanted to interact with outside the bedroom, but he treated them well when they came home with him. He had a bit of a reputation, but he was always upfront about his intentions. He wasn’t a flowers and chocolates, take home to your mom type. He hadn’t broken any hearts and he didn’t intend to. With his focus on furthering his career goals, he didn’t have time for the drama of a relationship anyway.

Something about Connor always seemed to pull people’s gaze, though. Hank noticed men and women alike stopping to take note of the slender man. There was something boyish about his features that made him look younger than his years. His voice was sweet and lilted higher than Hank’s. He didn’t bother to examine why he’d taken note of these things. Connor seemed to have that effect on everyone.

That, and it was much easier to count the freckles on his face than try and eke any meaning out of the stupid equation he was supposed to be working on.

“Daydreaming, Hank?” Hank startles badly when he realizes he’s been staring at his tutor’s face for the better part of two minutes drawing absentminded scribbles on the table. His pen had run off the paper and onto the wood surface.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters ineloquently and digs around in his bag for hand sanitizer. Scrubbing at the mark with the hem of his shirt, most of it comes away. Connor clears his throat, and it’s a delicate sound—not meant to attract attention, it seems more like an aborted sound of interest. Connor’s eyes aren’t on him, but Hank is abruptly aware that he’s baring most of his stomach to his tutor.

He claps his palms together and he decides on the spot that his hands are big and stupid much like himself, “Anyway.” He gestures at the equation, “None of that shit is making sense. Sorry.”

Connor’s mouth remains neutral but Hank can see how his eyes crinkle and shine with amusement, “Maybe we can try it another way. A reward system.”

Hank stares at him, nonplussed, “What, like a dog?” He turns sideways in his chair, draping a leg over the arm of it. All of these numbers are making him antsy and he itches to move.

“Not quite,” Connor says delicately and he slides his glasses to the tip of his nose before folding them. He hangs them from the neck of his sweater and one dark freckle peeks out at Hank from where the glasses drag the neck down a couple of millimeters. “For every equation you manage to work through before the end of this session, I’ll buy you one beer. Finish them all, and I’ll get you a six-pack.”

“You’re gonna buy me a drink?” Hank’s hands clench into embarrassed fists as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Sorry, I know that’s—you’re not offering—sorry.” Heat creeps up his neck and he steals a glance at Connor’s face. His expression is one of quiet interest more so than anger at Hank’s presumption.

“No, I’m not asking you out, Hank. I’m offering you an incentive to make the task more interesting for you. From what I’ve seen, your main interests appear to be sports, your friends, and beer. I can’t offer you much in regards to the first two, but the third seems simple enough.”

 _Hank_ , he thinks to himself, _you are an idiot._

“Right. Right. Ok. Sure. That doesn’t mean I’m going to magically understand this crap, though.” Connor actually grins at that one and Hank has to look away from the brightness of it.

“No, but you might be more inclined to pay attention to what I’m saying rather than staring at my forehead in a daze. You’re smart, Hank. You just lack focus.”

Warmth curls up Hank’s spine. People often praised him for his prowess on the field or in bed. He didn’t usually receive compliments of an academic sort.

“If you say so,” he mutters, embarrassed but pleased. Connor’s hand is on his wrist again and his touch is like fire.

Hank meets his gaze once more and Connor’s eyes contain no trace of dishonesty, “I know so. You can do this, Hank.”

Though he’s not quick to admit it, Connor’s theory holds water. He pays more attention to what Connor shows him and tries harder to understand the purpose behind the numbers rather than just rote memorizing equations.

An hour later and he’s throwing down his pen in victory, “Ha! Five minutes to spare. You owe me a sixer.” He folds his arms smugly as if Connor hadn’t been the one to make the deal in the first place. He considers flexing his pecs in victory but decides that’s overkill.

Connor dons and adjusts his glasses with a delicate touch of his forefinger. Hank watches the movement, baffled by Connor’s gentle grace. Fucking hell. How we made such a simple gesture look graceful was beyond him. It didn’t matter anyway. Connor owed him several beers.

A small smile touches Connor’s lips, “So I do. What’s your poison, Hank?”

He hadn’t anticipated that Connor would hold up his end of the bargain so quickly. Less than twenty minutes after Connor bid him farewell, one of his brothers in the fraternity was knocking at his door, “Hey, Hank. That tall dude you’ve been seeing dropped this off at the door.”

“For fuck’s sak—I’m not _seeing_ him. He’s helping me pass statistics.” The kid shrugs and hands him the beer.

“Whatever, man. He brought you these.” Hank accepts the six-pack with a scowl and firmly shuts his door. Any night spent studying with Connor meant he fell behind on other classes. It would be a late night of reading and prepping for midterms. Beer would help pass the time.

By his fourth beer, he can’t focus his eyes on his book anymore. He can’t focus his attention, either.

_You fucking twinks now, Anderson?_

_That tall dude you’ve been seeing._

Fuck all those guys. They were off their rockers. Connor hadn’t said or done a single thing to indicate he was interested. He put up with Hank’s stupidity well enough, but that doesn’t mean anything.

_You’re smart, Hank._

Hank groans and falls back onto his pillow. He pulls it out from under his head before draping it over his face to block out the light. _Why_ had it felt so good to hear him say it? True, not many people ever stopped to consider Hank’s intelligence, but he knows he wouldn’t blush if anyone else had said it. It’s baffling.

He considers opening another beer but thinks better of it in the end. No sense being hungover tomorrow. It won’t help him catch up on his homework or prepare for his exams. Shucking out of his clothes, he rolls to his stomach and waits for sleep to take him.

He’s naked in the dream. He doesn’t remember taking off his boxers, but here he is, naked and leaning over his bed. He’s painfully hard, he realizes. He reaches down to jack his impressive girth when a voice freezes the blood in his veins.

“Focus, Hank. You don’t get the reward unless you finish the equations.” He knows it’s Connor’s voice even if it sounds darker and more musical here. He’s behind him and he can’t bring himself to turn around to face him.

Looking down once more, confusing numbers jumble on a page that pops into existence as soon as Connor stops speaking. None of this makes any sense, he knows, but the throbbing need for release overwhelms his judgment.

“I can’t,” heat blossoms on Hank’s cheeks at how needy he sounds. Slender hands wrap around his waist, hovering tantalizingly close to his leaking erection.

“I know you can, Hank. Let me help you.” The instant Connor’s fingers make contact Hank knows he’s in trouble. His heart is screaming, pounding faster than a runaway train. He shouldn’t want this. There’s something filthy in the way Connor encourages him to pick up the pen and try to work the equations while he strokes Hank’s girth at a languid pace.

“This isn’t real,” he mutters to the room and the paper with the equations vanishes as abruptly as they appeared. Connor’s hand remains wrapped firmly around him while the other ghosts between Hank’s cheeks.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Hank.” Hank knows what is coming and he’s certain he will die on the spot when Connor touches him _there_. Connor hesitates, clearly waiting for Hank to decide.

“Ok,” he says after four loud and panicked breaths. His voice is tight and it cracks between the syllables. “Ok,” he repeats it more firmly and a kiss presses to his shoulder before slick fingers prod at his puckered hole.

Stars explode behind his eyes and air doesn’t seem to want to go into his lungs. He knows he’s coming impossibly fast and hard. The room spins and the floor slams into his shoulder as he falls out of bed. Startling into consciousness, Hank struggles to disentangle his legs from his sticky sheets.

“Jesus. Fuck,” he groans to his empty room. He hasn’t had a wet dream since high school, and certainly never about—

He slams the lid on that line of thought. It was a dream. That was all. It doesn’t mean anything.

He cancels his next tutoring session and pushes the one after that several days to the right. He’s poised to cancel that one as well when a gentle but persistent knock startles him half out of his desk chair. He knows it’s Connor. No one else could make knocking sound like a song.

When he opens the door, Connor’s much closer than he anticipated. He can see the hints of silver at his temples. He wonders if Connor is forty yet and what it says about him that his heart is stuttering. Connor’s eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Hank, are you alright? It’s not like you to skip sessions. You look pale.” Connor raises the back of his hand as if to feel Hank’s forehead and Hank twitches away. Connor pulls back as if burned. “Is something wrong? Do you need help?”

Hank wishes Connor would stop being so nice to him. If he wasn’t caring and smart and handsome, it would be so much easier to forget the dream and move on with his life.

 _So we’re acknowledging he’s handsome now?_ His traitorous brain whispers to him.

“Shut _up_ ,” he growls at himself, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Excuse me?” Connor’s voice cracks hard and cold between them. Hank had never thought of Connor as an intimidating man until that moment. Searching his face, he sees taut, controlled anger burning in Connor’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out immediately and Connor’s stance softens around his shoulders. “Not you. Me. I can’t sleep and my brain won’t shut the hell up.”

“Performance anxiety is pretty common.” Even as Connor says the words, Hank can tell he doesn’t believe that’s the root of the problem. Christ, can the man read his mind? Hank remembers with disconcerting clarity that Connor is an analyst by trade and makes his money separating fact from fiction in the crime world. He can probably read faces with greater ease than Hank can say the alphabet.

“That’s not it. It’s, uh, a personal problem. I shouldn’t have skipped out on you.” He doesn’t meet Connor’s gaze. He doesn’t want his eyes to go spilling his guts’ secrets.

Connor’s fingertips touch his elbow and Hank startles so badly he nearly trips over his feet, “Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?”

“No. God, no. You’ve been great. Helping me and all. It’s—”

Gavin Reed’s greasy head pops around the corner, “Lover’s quarrel? Haven’t seen your boyfriend around in over a week.”

“Well, aren’t you a repugnant individual. This conversation doesn’t include you.” Connor turns back to face Hank and Gavin does his best to pick up his jaw and his pride from the floor before scuttling away.

Hank stares resolutely at Connor’s shoes. Connor inhales in such a way that Hank knows he’s out of excuses. “Oh,” Connor’s tone is light and tells him nothing. “Oh, I see.”

Hank forces himself to meet Connor’s eyes. He’s no coward and he’ll face whatever this is head-on. He’d expected Connor to be annoyed or flustered. This calm control is unsettling.

“Say something,” Hank finally bursts, unable to withstand Connor’s quiet scrutiny. Connor shakes his head as if only now realizing he was studying Hank like a difficult to solve equation.

“Sorry, I was…calculating something.” He resumes his perusal of Hank as if that explained everything. He burns scarlet hot under Connor’s stare. When Connor speaks again, his words are careful and measured, “Nothing can happen between us while I’m employed by the school.”

Hank had expected as much. The blow lands a lot heavier than he anticipated. His shoulders droop and his heart deflates. Is this why he’d distanced himself from dating? Was this kind of rejection worth risking?

“You misunderstand me,” Connor’s words grip Hank’s heart in a vice and it throbs weakly. “My caseload is too heavy for me to continue teaching beyond this semester. The DPD is going to rotate out officers as it can, but I won’t be a professor here any longer after finals.”

Air rushes back into Hank’s lungs with such force, he wonders if he’s floating. Connor gives him a soft smile, “Maybe we need a new incentive.” Hank doesn’t trust his tongue not to blurt out every stupid thought he has in his head so he lets Connor continue uninterrupted, “Pass your final exam, and we can set a _date_ for less…academic conversation.”

He hears the emphasis on _date_ and fire consumes his face while roaring in his ears. He nods and Connor inclines his head toward Hank’s desk, “Now, would you like to catch up on your studies?”

Hank isn’t sure what Connor’s interest is in him, but he doesn’t care. He’s never felt like this before. A wild glee rampages around his chest when he gets back his midterm with an 88 circled in red. For the first time in his life, Hank thinks statistics might be worth something after all.

Connor doesn’t touch him any more than usual. A hand at his elbow or a touch to his shoulder while leaning to inspect Hank’s work. Even so, Hank feels as is every fingerprint sears into his skin upon contact. He wants to know if Connor’s lips will burn him like a brand when they finally kiss. He wants to see how many freckles Connor has hidden beneath his shirt.

Connor claps him on the back on their final study session before Hank’s last exam, “Good luck!” Hank knows he means it. They’d worked hard to get Hank over the mental hurdles of making the numbers behave as they should. He wants him to succeed.

It’s mid-December before final grades post and Hank lets out a pleased whoop when he sees a solid B+ next to his statistics course.

Dating Connor is a new experience for Hank. For one, he’d never dated anyone at all before. He’s also painfully impatient.

Connor had laughed gently the first time Hank had hauled him up against his front door and kissed him like he meant to merge their bodies into one, “Easy there, tiger.” He hadn’t pulled away. On the contrary, he’d pulled Hank down into another kiss, but this one was slower, more sensual. Hank was briefly concerned he’d come in his pants from _kissing_.

“You,” he’d huffed into the small space between them, “are really good at that.”

Connor had given him a pleased smile and a playful answer, “There are a lot of things I can teach you.”

After weeks of making out and teasing remarks, Hank was fit to burst. He had no idea how to ask for what he was after or what Connor was waiting for. They’d been on more than a dozen dates and each one had culminated with Connor gently but firmly ending the evening at his door.

The air burns crisp in his lungs as they make their way back to Connor’s apartment. They’d caught an evening movie and were walking hand in hand. Hank’s brain races with arguments to convince Connor to let him in. He’s developing a bit of a complex that Connor doesn’t want him in his apartment.

When they reach Connor’s front steps, he turns to look at the door then back at Hank. Hank sucks in a breath, steeling himself to ask the question when Connor says softly, “Do you want to come in?” He laughs when Hank practically hauls him up the stairs.

Five minutes later, and Connor has Hank pinned to the couch between his thighs. Straddling him, Connor kisses at his neck while Hank writhes beneath his touch.

“You…have way too much…patience,” Hank pants out between ragged breaths. He’s not certain he’d going to survive this night, but he’ll give it the ol’ college try.

Connor’s laugh tinkles like piano keys, “I have no such thing. I just hide it better. The benefits of experience.”

Hank shoves at him lightly before changing his mind and yanking him down to kiss his face, “Why’ve you been playing hard to get, then?”

Connor flushes lightly and his freckles pop into stark relief, “I wanted to be sure you wanted this. That it wasn’t just a…fleeting infatuation. You have quite the reputation on campus as a ladies’ man.”

It’s Hank’s turn to flush. He knows he’s bedded his share of women. It’s not something he particularly wants to discuss at the moment. Connor’s thin fingers frame his face, “I’m not judging you. I meant…” he breaks off to consider his words and Hank realizes Connor is more fragile than he lets anyone see, “You didn’t strike me as someone who’d be interested in me. I wanted to be sure I wasn’t a conquest.”

Hank hadn’t anticipated that insecurity is why Connor kept him at arm’s distance. He wraps his hands around Connor’s trim waist. He’d thought being with a man would feel unnatural or strange, but Connor fits perfectly in his arms. Although his dick is screaming for him to tear off his clothes, he forces himself to slow down.

He slides Connor’s glasses from his face and kisses his cheeks, his forehead, his nose. When their lips meet, it’s a slow, emotional thing. Connor’s fingers find the top-most button of his shirt and they move with ease. Hank shoulders out of it and groans when Connor palms the meat of his chest.

His fingertips slide down until the flick off the rosy tips of his nipples. He sucks in a breath and Connor looms down to nip at his neck. Hank makes a sound he didn’t know he was capable of producing and Connor murmurs into his ear, “So sensitive.”

His hips cant forward against Hank’s and he leans back to watch his face. Naked arousal burns behind Connor’s eyes and Hank has the distinct feeling that Connor is going to devour him.

“Have you ever done this before?” Hank knows what Connor is asking and a heatwave ripples across his skin, staining him pink from his nipples to his hairline.

“I fuck,” he mutters sullenly and a fresh surge of humiliation soaks his skin.

“So we discussed,” Connor says patiently and he thumbs at Hank’s cheekbone. Something in his face darkens and Hank is forcibly reminded of the breadth of his inexperience in this arena. Connor rolls his hips once more and Hank melts into a moaning puddle at the contact.

Hank knows what Connor means and mutters, “No. Not like this.”

Connor nods and gropes at Hank’s chest and shoulders, content to feel him up as he contemplates, “I thought as much, but I wanted to be sure.” Hank is aware what question hangs between them, but he doesn’t know how to ask. He never thought he’d want _that_ and asking for it seems like an impossible task.

“You’ve had several weeks to think about it,” Connor’s voice is heavily laced with lust now and Hank worries for the umpteenth time that he’s going to burst like a horny teenager if Connor doesn’t stop undulating like that in his lap.

“I want you,” Hank stumbles over his words, hoping to convey what he’s after without saying the actual words. “I want you to…to be the one who…fucking hell.” He ends with a groan as Connor’s nail rake down his neck and over his chest.

“I can go either way,” Connor sighs between them. He grabs at Hank’s hand, resting it over the bulge tenting his pants, “but if you’ve never done this before, you could hurt me.”

Hank gropes at Connor and delights in the way he responds. His head tips back on a moan and he exposes the pale column of his neck. Hank wants to sink his teeth into him.

“Show me,” Hank replies with more courage than he feels. Ever since the dream, he’s wanted to know what it would feel like in reality.

Connor’s head lists to one side and he looks down at Hank from hooded eyes, “You’re going to fall apart for me, Hank.” Hank shivers as he meets Connor’s gaze. His already dark eyes look almost black in the dim light. “Are you a screamer, Hank?” The question steals the air from Hank’s lungs and it’s a massive effort to shrug.

Connor swoops down to nibble at his ear before whispering, “Do you want to find out?”

“Hell yes,” the affirmation is out of his mouth faster than the speed of thought.

Connor’s fingers work at Hank’s belt and the sound of his fly lowering has the force of a clap of thunder. His heart thuds when Connor’s fingers lightly run beneath the waistband of his briefs.

“Let’s get these off, then.” Connor kisses him as his fingers make contact for the first time with Hank’s cock and Hank whimpers into his mouth. It’s exquisite bordering on devastation. Connor’s warm, soft fingers threaten to unravel him at this first delicate brush against his shaft. Connor grins at Hank’s response to his touch and he murmurs, “Perfect.”

Hank isn’t sure how they ended up in Connor’s room with Hank completely naked and Connor still mostly dressed. His shirt is gone, but his slacks still hang around his slim waist. Hank suspects Connor doesn’t want to spook him.

Blood throbs under Hank’s cheeks as Connor talks him through the basic mechanics of what to expect. He strokes him slowly, just a hair too light to completely distract his attention. It feels a great deal like Connor is tutoring him again when he’d rather learn from hand’s on experience.

When Connor’s palm gently pushes at the small of Hank’s back, bending him over the side of the bed, Hank briefly considers fleeing the room. He aches so badly with want; Connor fucking him may very well destroy him.

“This will likely feel odd at first. I promise; it gets much better.” Hank glances around the room, noting a mirror hanging on the back of Connor’s door. He can see the swell of his own ass and most of Connor. His fingers glisten and it hits Hank that this is _happening_.

Connor traces down Hank’s spine, over the cleft of his buttocks, before disappearing between them. He jerks harshly at the first brush against his hole. Connor makes a soft shushing sound before saying quietly, “Breathe, Hank.”

Hank sucks in a gulp of air at the sudden reminder that he needs it. On the exhale, Connor’s finger presses slowly, gently forward as if Hank is a fragile, cherished thing.

He’ll give him one thing. He was right. It feels odd. He shifts, not certain what Connor’s prodding finger is looking for until—

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank ruts against the bedding on instinct when Connor’s fingertip presses against something inside him that is electric and dangerously delicious. Connor practically purrs above him, pleased by his reaction.

Connor works the spot over, stroking at varying speeds to gauge Hank’s response. He bellows out a deep, raw sound when Connor adds a second finger, doubling up his assault.

“There it is,” Connor pressing his chest to Hank’s back to kiss at his shoulder blades while fingering him open. “God, look at you. Magnificent.”

Although it hadn’t been a command, Hank’s eyes fly open to look at the mirror. Connor draped over him like a protective lover combined with the fingers threatening to unmake him is overwhelming. He wants more, he needs more of Connor, more sensation. He stammers Connor’s name on repeat, explicatives dripping from his tongue.

“Almost there, Hank.” Hank can’t imagine how much more prep he could possibly need, but he’s also aware this is why Connor’s taking the reins. If Hank had his way, Connor would be fucking him into the mattress by now.

It’s a massive relief when Connor withdraws and Hank hears the tearing of a condom. He rolls to his side feeling like he’s run a marathon. Connor’s cock suits him, Hank decides. It’s pale much like the rest of him and even has a few freckles along the shaft. Hank wants to lick them. He’s a little relieved he isn’t built like Hank. Hank had had more than a few partners ogle at his dick in disbelief. Connor’s is well proportioned and Hank suddenly realizes his dick is a good deal thicker than two fingers.

Connor holds out a hand, hauling Hank up into a sit. He straddles him and Hank groans when he grinds down against him. Connor swallows the sound in a kiss and he reaches down to stroke Hank slowly until his trepidation gives way to raging lust.

“I need…” Hank pants into Connor’s collarbone, “you. Just you.”

Hank’s arms wrap around Connor’s torso and he can feel him swell with happiness and a good deal of pride. Connor clambers out of Hank’s lap before tugging at one of his ankles. Message received, Hank scoots to the end of the bed as Connor reaches for a bottle of lube.

He’d assumed he’d be on his stomach, but something clenches in his chest when he realizes Connor wants to see his face. The intimacy of what they’re about to do has his lungs heaving again and Connor braces an arm by his head to kiss him.

When Connor presses the tip of his cock against Hank’s hole, Hank tenses without thinking.

“Relax, Hank.” Connor’s voice is calm and soothing. Tension bleeds out from Hank’s shoulders down to his toes and Connor presses forward. Even with the prep, there is a burn Hank hadn’t expected. It’s manageable and Connor takes his time. When he’s seated to the hilt, his head droops and Hank sags into the mattress. He feels impossibly full, wildly connected. He needs Connor to move. He wants to know what it will feel like when Connor’s dick drags against the place that melts him into a puddle.

Connor’s fingers find his and his dark eyes blaze with intense emotion, “I never thought—you are…unbelievable. Perfect. Mine.” Hank isn’t sure what Connor sees in him, but his heart crows at his smoldering gaze. He has never had anyone look at him like that before and he wants desperately for Connor to see him like this every day.

Connor starts slow, barely extracting an inch before pressing back in just as gradually. The first time he brushes against that sweet spot inside him, Hank’s back arches against a moan. Connor grins at him lasciviously before bucking into him again and again without ceasing.

It’s an onslaught of sensation and Hank whimpers when Connor tugs at his thighs, “Give me your legs.”

He can feel the angle change, feel how much tighter of a fit it becomes and he bawls a sound like a wounded animal when Connor hammers into him just right.

Connor pauses and leans down to look more closely at his face. Hank wonders if Connor thinks he hurt him and he’s on the verge of reassuring him when Connor growls, “You can scream louder than that.”

His dick bobs in terrified interest when Connor leans into him as far as Hank’s shouldered legs will allow. Hank’s momentarily impressed Connor can manage it when he withdraws and batters into him like he intends to fuck Hank in half.

Lights flare behind his eyes and something concussive explodes inside his chest over and over until he realizes it’s his own raw voice howling. His hands fist into the bedspread and he’s vaguely aware of Connor telling him he’s gorgeous like this.

He can feel his orgasm threatening to boil over at any moment and Connor reaching between them to jack Hank’s bouncing dick collapses the dam. Liquid desire races along his scalp and down his spine before spiraling up his shaft. Connor milks him through it until Hank is a whimpering wreck.

Connor’s name is the only word Hank can think to speak as Connor continues to thrust into him until his hips stutter against Hank for the final time. Breathing hard, Connor leans his head against one of Hank’s legs still resting against his shoulder. He presses a kiss to his knee before gently bringing Hank’s legs back down. He pulls out only to collapse across Hank’s broad chest, not seeming to care about the mess he’s lying in.

“You are lovely,” Connor mumbles, still very high on his release. Hank rolls them to the side and Connor throws a possessive leg over Hank’s generous hip. They need to clean up, but Hank wants nothing more than to lie here and listen to Connor pepper him with praise.

It’s several months before Hank feels confident enough to top Connor. Nothing could prepare him for the heat of it or the tightness. He doesn’t know how Connor can maintain enough composure to guide him through it, but he throws encouragement Hank’s way when he worries he’s not doing this right.

While Connor is a good deal quieter than Hank is when on the receiving end, he’s handsy. His fingers fist into Hank’s hair as Hank pistons into him. He can feel blunt nails graze his scalp and it’s the only warning he gets before Connor spasms around him. Hank is close, but he knows how overwhelming it feels when Connor fucks him beyond his orgasm.

Connor doesn’t relinquish his grip on Hank’s hair and he tugs a little to get his attention, “Keep going.” Hank’s heart nearly bursts with affection and his own release follows in short order. Connor strokes at his hair, whispering assurances and praise. Hank finds he prefers to let Connor take the lead, but he can’t deny the appeal of plunging into Connor, gripping his thin waist.

It takes longer than Hank would like after graduating, but he eventually makes it into the academy. He hadn’t wanted to rely on Connor or his father’s name to find his place. He’s therefore annoyed when his instructors make a comment about a meeting with Connor.

Connor arrives home to find a fuming Hank on his doorstep.

“Oh, my. Who pissed you off?” Connor wilts slightly when Hank’s angry mask doesn’t falter. “Let’s take this inside.”

The door is barely closed before Hank whirls on him, “Did you pull strings?” Connor stares at him blankly and Hank gestures at the brand new badge on his hip, “Did I earn this or not?”

Realization dawns and Connor crosses his arms, “Someone approached me for your background. They wanted to know what a college frat boy had to offer as a police officer.” Hank’s glower deepens and Connor ignores him, “I told them to look at the reforms you’d made to the fraternity. They interviewed your fraternity brothers and some of your professors. I heard later they thought you showed excellent leadership prowess as well as communication skills.”

Connor’s mouth grows into a thin line and he arches a skeptical eyebrow in Hank’s direction, “It’s entirely possible they missed the fact that you’re a boar as well. If you’re done lobbing accusations at me now, I’m going to make dinner.”

Hank murmurs a sheepish apology but Connor’s bad mood persists well into the night. He excuses himself to read and it takes Hank fifteen minutes to work up the nerve to follow him. Standing in the doorway, he feels too large and dumb to be allowed.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats for the third time and Connor grumbles back _I know_ without looking up from his book. Hank crosses the room and sits next to Connor on the bed before dragging him into his lap. Connor squawks out a flustered sound of surprise as Hank palms his face, “I should’ve known better. I should’ve asked like a sane person before raging at you.”

Connor’s stiff stance thaws at the words. He closes his eyes and leans into Hank’s much larger frame. Hank kisses at his jaw and his neck, “Let me make it up to you.”

Connor huffs out an amused sound, “What did you have in mind?”

“Have your way with me,” Hank grins and wiggles his eyebrows. This earns him a true laugh. Still, he was being serious. When he speaks again, his tone is deeper, huskier, “I mean it. Drive me crazy. I know I make you nuts on a regular basis.” Connor smiles again, but there is something sensual about it this time. Hank kisses him slow and sweet as honey before whispering against his lips, “Make me _earn_ it.”

Connor emits a soft growl and Hank knows he’s got him. Connor wasn’t hard to convince when Hank was offering himself on a platter.

Within minutes, Connor has Hank stripped bare with his head pressed to the mattress and his ass in the air. Hank groans as Connor works him over, knowing exactly how to make Hank go cross-eyed with need. His fingers press wetly in and out of him, battering his prostate as if pleasure is his punishment. There’s only so much Hank can take and he cracks, reaching to take himself in hand.

Connor bats it away, shifting the angle of his fingers until Hank nearly buckles to the mattress.

“Connor,” Hank whines and he’s beyond caring. He needs to touch himself, for Connor to touch him or fuck him—something. “Please,” it comes out wrecked and Connor’s free hand scores down his back.

“No,” he says simply and Hank has to resist the urge to tackle him. The payoff was always worth the wait when it came to Connor, but it drove Hank insane nearly every time.

Connor leans close to his ear as if sharing a secret, “I want to see you come like this.” Hank twitches but nods. He’d made the offer in good faith and he knew this was coming. Connor works him to the edge of madness for the better part of half an hour before granting him a small reprieve. Hank could come untouched, but he needed a certain force to pull it off. It was easier when Connor fucked him over that ledge.

His orgasm is as delicious as it is a relief. Connor holds him after, pressing kisses to his exhausted brow, “You need to have more faith in yourself.” Hank cracks open an eye to peer at Connor inquiringly. “You’re talented and capable. You earned your badge on your qualifications alone.” Hank ducks his head, still slightly ashamed of his outburst.

Connor exhales an amused snort, “Then again, if you could see what I see, your ego would be unbearable.” Hank smacks him in the face with a pillow. It does little to stifle Connor’s laugh.

Connor drifts into an easy sleep after that and Hank traces one of Connor’s laugh lines with his thumb. He hopes he gives Connor more wrinkles from smiling than frowning. He wants to be the best version of himself that he can be for Connor. He sends a silent thanks to the universe for making him terrible at statistics as he slips into sleep’s warm embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake).


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